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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046939">On A One-Last-Time Basis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/septiembre/pseuds/septiembre'>septiembre</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Girls (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baking, Beds, Book Club, Bread, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fantasizing, Fluff, Hot Weather, One Shot, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lol all of it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:40:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,905</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/septiembre/pseuds/septiembre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The book club -- a real, honest-to-god book club -- begins when Beth’s curiosity about a book on Rio’s bedside table gets the best of her. </p><p>----<br/>My collection of unconnected prompt fills. Most recent update: Rio and Beth start a book club.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beth Boland &amp; Ruby Hill, Beth Boland/Rio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>432</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "you're the worst" + "you're my favorite"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-</p>
<p>It’s been a few hours since Rio brought her to this house. The house itself is charming, simply furnished. In another life, she would have loved to call it home. It sits on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood, and the night is peaceful. But, she’s restless.  </p>
<p>She can’t sleep, she can’t eat, so she’s cleaning.</p>
<p>The afternoon was a blur. Rio had met Beth at the Paper Porcupine alone, and then Mick called. Suddenly, Rio was shuffling her into his ridiculous car, sharing the most minimal details - FBI, at the bar.  The drive was tense, silent, stressed and it gave Beth a half an hour to bitterly contemplate where they were headed. To her surprise, instead of a derelict motel or empty loft, Rio had spirited them away to a modest neighborhood. There were no kids riding about on bicycles like her neighborhood, no middle-aged parents out on a run, but a lot of older folks and well-loved garden beds. Rio pulled up to a quaint green house, unlocked the front door with a key he proffered from his glove compartment. And then he settled in with her.</p>
<p>Beth called all the people she needed to call, fiddling with her phone on the couch. Hours passed - Rio had squirreled himself away in one of the bedrooms - and night crept in. The living room is decorated sparsely but closer to her brand of comfort. The house doesn’t really feel like Rio. At least, not in the way the loft felt like a pandora’s box of his personality all those months ago. The couch she’s resting on is so soft and she would curl up here if her mind wasn’t racing, swirling around the indications of the FBI showing up again at Rio’s business, swirling around what it could mean for her cash.</p>
<p>Beth takes a breath.</p>
<p>She starts to look around. She begins by taking inventory of the fridge - empty except for moldy cheese and almond milk that smelled okay, some condiments. She pops open the freezer and found what will be their next meal - veggie burgers, frozen bread, and peas. She thinks about turning on the stove - but the top is a little greasy and she’s not really hungry. Mostly, Beth’s annoyed at the closed door and lack of updates, but she knows she should wait for him. She makes some coffee instead.</p>
<p>The journey of discovery continues, and she drifts through this space that seems to sometimes be Rio’s. Beth rummages through minimally stocked cabinets, finds some mezcal, gin, and blessedly bourbon. She uses the bourbon to top off her coffee.</p>
<p>Beth opens what looks like a pantry but turns out to be fully-stocked with cleaning supplies - detergent, disinfectants, bleach, vinegar, gloves, masks, the works. Despite the shittiness of this day, she laughs. What a weirdo. Such a neat freak. Of course, he has a stockpile comparable to hers, a mother to four children.  </p>
<p>She turns her attention to the empty bedroom. She finds some basic t-shirts and sweatpants sized for Rio and changes. She’s not sure how much to trust the house, it seems clean but a musty smell clings to the rooms. So she strips off the sheets from the bed and runs the wash. She sweeps. She wipes down the stove, then moves the laundry to the dryer. Rio stays holed up in the other bedroom and every now and then she can hear him talking on the phone. Beth takes a deep breath, pins up her hair, retrieves some supplies from the pantry and continues on to the bathroom. She sprays down the surfaces.</p>
<p>And she’s just over it. It was her night to make dinner and Dean all but hung up on her earlier when she called to explain. She was supposed to make another batch of cash with Ruby and Annie, and after her call, they’re scared and holed up in their homes, too. And, now they’re behind schedule. And, now - the fucking FBI? Beth rubs vigorously at a spot on the shower wall. She had finally hit her stride with Rio. After one particularly ugly night where they screamed themselves hoarse at the store, they were okay.  They still don’t broach much talk about before - but they talk about work, they talk about now - and sometimes things between them feel good. But, now her mind leaps and somersaults and she thinks Jim Turner could be waiting for her around a corner of this house, freshly resurrected from the dead and ready to pull them into another deadly triangle.</p>
<p>She hears the bedroom door open, and Rio appears. He leans against the frame of the bathroom, he’s changed into sweatpants, too.</p>
<p>“It’s all clean, mama.”</p>
<p>She’s really very tired. Her eyes prick.</p>
<p>“It’s grimy.” Her voice is hoarser than she expects when she speaks.</p>
<p>He purses his lips and then ducks out of the doorway. And fine. She returns to scrubbing any imaginable yuck out of the shower wall. A minute later, she hears him return. She turns to find him tapping on his phone, and music fills the room. She recognizes Rosalía from one of Annie’s money-making playlists - a dive into international lady musicians. He notices her noticing and quirks his brow at her. She holds out her hand and once he begrudgingly hands over the phone, she queues up Milionària.  Rio chuckles, pulls on long rubber gloves, and steps into the shower with her. He’s pulled a second brush out from the pantry stock, and he reaches over her head to help her with the tall spots. She feels a little lightheaded and she’s not sure if it’s all the cleaning chemicals or if it’s that her nose can still zero in on Rio’s cologne.  </p>
<p>Together, moving along to the music, they make quick work of the bathroom. Beth gets the linens out of the dryer. Rio helps her with the sheets.</p>
<p>Thoughts creep up reminding her of the state of her sheets after that afternoon in her bedroom, and how she tended that bed alone afterward.  They’re both tired, and they’re not who they used to be, yet this moment still has that familiar weight, that current. She savors the lines of him out of the corner of her eye and catches him peeking at her, too. She wonders idly where he’s going to sleep.</p>
<p>They finish with the bed. Rio grins at her. Despite everything, she braces herself for an innuendo she knows is at the tip of his tongue. “Dinner?”</p>
<p>It makes Beth laugh. “It’s one a.m.”</p>
<p>Naturally, it’s this moment when her stomach growls.</p>
<p>Rio works on the food. She brings out the mezcal and bourbon she found earlier and pours them drinks, grabs plates. He catches her up on details from his calls with Mick. The FBI lingered outside the bar for some time, and ultimately it’s better that they spend the night in the safe house, just to be sure. They plan for him to drop her off downtown tomorrow afternoon and have Annie get her the rest of the way home.</p>
<p>They make their way through Rio’s playlist, drink more alcohol. Sometime over the course of Rio toasting their bread, and putting together her veggie burger, she relaxes. After they finish their dinner, they curl up on the couch in their mirrored outfits. Next to each other, facing each other, but the couch is not that big anyway.</p>
<p>Beth asks him about the house.</p>
<p>He doesn’t reveal much as usual, but he comes here sometimes, yeah? When shit hits the fan. It makes her mind spin and she wonders. “Like what kind of shit?”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“Well, your pantry is fully stocked with cleaning supplies.”</p>
<p>He smiles - it’s sharkish.</p>
<p>Beth rolls her eyes. “I know you think you’re so cool.” He scoffs, but under his faux-affrontedness, she can see his glee. He loves when she calls him out. “All Tony Montana or Don Corleone.” She blinks and can’t believe she can seriously say that to someone. “But, honestly, you have the cleaning supplies of a suburban mom of four. We’re not that different.”</p>
<p>He’s literally snickering into his hand and she just cannot with him. Beth insists, “It’s true!”</p>
<p>Rio looks down the line of his nose at her. His gaze is sly. “You’re the worst, ma.”</p>
<p>Now she’s laughing. “That’s okay. I can be your worst.” She blames it on the warm, giddiness of being a little buzzed when she gives him a smile, impish. “You’re my worst, too.”</p>
<p>His eyebrows quirk up towards his hairline. He eyes her body from top to bottom and back again and his mouth does that thing she hates and loves where it purses - too attractively - at one side and he’s as playful as ever before. What an arrogant shit, she thinks. Something in her body has too much feeling. The tell-tale heat curls in her chest, and she knows she’s wet. He bites his bottom lip. Her thighs clench and she’s annoyed.</p>
<p>“I’m definitely your best.”</p>
<p>Beth squawks. Blood rushes through her ears, rising up from her chest to blot her cheeks. She rears back, away from him.  “I- You- I’m-” She closes her gaping mouth and eyes him primly. “ Then, I’m definitely not your worst.”</p>
<p>He grins, conceding maybe.</p>
<p>Beth rocks her jaw and edges closer. Their chests don’t meet, but she can feel the warmth emanating from him.</p>
<p>She weighs her options.</p>
<p>Beth doesn’t break his gaze until she’s close enough that her lips graze his collarbone. She noses at the top of his shirt. She feels sexy and maybe it’s too much, but she takes the top button between her teeth and tugs.</p>
<p>Her gaze darts back up at his face. His mouth is parted and she feels that stupid, perfect thrill. Beth remembers how easy it was to enthrall him - too easy. She had examined it in the middle of her nights months ago and then buried it deep inside. She had convinced herself that it had been a trick of her imagination gone wild with the headiness of watching him in that dirty mirror, of finally tracing his skin in the sunlight streaming through her windows. But, she has done it again. Despite everything suspended between them, she still manages it.</p>
<p>Beth knows what’s she’s doing when she bites her lip and leans her face close to his. His gaze is glued to her mouth.</p>
<p>She tries again, “I’m your worst?”</p>
<p>He swallows, and maybe he’s a little wrecked, too. His fingertips brush the cleft of her chin. “You’re my favorite.”</p>
<p>Beth grins, widely, victorious. She nudges her nose against his and whispers, “Want to take a shower with me?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "Let's Run Away Together" Kiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt: "Let’s run away together" type of kiss</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-</p>
<p>When Beth slept with Rio again, it was on a one-last-time basis. She was convinced she had built it all up - the sex, the headiness of it all, the tenderness, how good it was.</p>
<p>She was sure she was viewing those orgasms through a haze of nostalgia, rose-tinted glasses. It had been a time when her newfound power was dizzying. She was making money, coming up in the world and, suddenly,  at forty, she found herself newly awake. Of course, she was going to have incredible orgasms. She hadn’t had sex in seven years. It made sense. If they were the best orgasms of her life, it was only because the sex of yore was with her blundering husband. This time would be different. Beth and Rio would fuck it out of their systems and they could go back to building their fortunes without the complication of partially resolved sexual tension.  </p>
<p>As she processed the warmth of Rio’s hands gripping her tight, of her writhing, her clit against his tongue, already begging for his cock, Beth became too cognizant of it all - all of the feelings.  Her blood was rushing, her body alight, and her thoughts bounding away from her in all directions. Then, Rio’s hands had fisted her hair, his teeth nipping at her pulse. He moved back inside her, was everywhere as if he had never left. Her hands had clenched against his neck, traced the scars she gave him last year, and for a time Beth stopped thinking.</p>
<p>Afterward, as she was finding her bearings, her breath, Rio brought his fingertips to trace the shape of her face. His hand dipped from her temple to the dimple in her chin - and seemingly despite himself, he kissed her. Beth, blanketed by the familiar softness from that sunny afternoon in her bed, the thrill of having his complete, unwavering attention, acknowledged that she was completely besotted, just like the first two times. She was as nervy as the grocery store robbery, as powerful as standing in the dealership and misdirecting the FBI, as boss as one-upping the very man in her bed. It was as perfect as the first time they kissed.</p>
<p>She could never let him know.</p>
<p>After some time, they shook off the spell. They cleaned up. They put on their clothes. They turned away from each other with one last tentative glance, a nod, and Beth went home. She buried herself in her responsibilities and at night, she came on her fingers letting herself think of him.</p>
<p>A week later, he showed up at her house. It happened again.</p>
<p>Then, again. And again.</p>
<p>It swelled from something Beth had convinced herself was sporadic, an anomaly, and evened out into their rhythm. Rio was in her life, in every way - and still, the moments between them burned. Their resilient spark kindled and the deadlock broke.  They weren’t quite dating - but they were undoubtedly partnered.  It thrilled her. He charmed her. Beth had never known what it meant to be in love, and for the first time, she was letting pieces of her that she had buried deep inside be known.</p>
<p>One afternoon, at the shop, Rio tugs her onto his lap. She’s been troubleshooting a kink with the printing press while Rio typed away on one of the work tables. He had turned it into a makeshift desk while he kept her and sometimes Annie and Ruby company as they printed. He noses down her neck and she’s starting to rub against him, when he says, “Let’s go on a vacation.”</p>
<p>Beth smiles against his temple, playing along, “Mmm, where? Fiji? Bora Bora?”</p>
<p>Rio leans back, squinting at her. “Damn, darlin’. Not unless you want to spend half our trip gettin’ there.”</p>
<p>She laughs, “Then what? You’ll bring me to Legoland with you this time?”</p>
<p>Rio scoffs and rolls his eyes. “The way this works, we can get away for a week and a half, two weeks tops.”</p>
<p>She eyes him and realizes he’s serious. Her mind goes blank and then unbidden memories from her life before surface. The first time Beth had been on a plane was a trip to Disney with Dean’s family. She had been in her first trimester with Emma, furiously trying to soothe a five-year-old Kenny and chubby-toddler Danny.  It had been her in-laws’ idea. They had insisted on staying at the park’s resort and the whole trip was nightmarish from beginning to end. She was still in the throes of morning sickness and on full caregiving duty to keep the boys from getting too fussy. Her mother-in-law helicoptered her parenting throughout the trip and Beth was suffocated by the responsibility of making sure the children stayed clean and tidy for family pictures. Memories of murmuring, exhausted, to Dean that their children were too young to remember the whole charade, dominate her associations of that trip, and traveling overall to this day. </p>
<p>Besides the vacations to Disney with Dean and the kids, Beth had gone on trips within a reasonable driving distance of Detroit. They had spent school breaks on the shores of Michigan, in New York one Christmas.  Once the kids were older, there were the yearly trips to Chicago, Indianapolis, and Toronto. She had been to Nashville once with Ruby and Annie, a girl’s trip, in between bouts when Sarah was better and a moment when Annie was flush with cash.  </p>
<p>Beth doesn’t know what to ask for.  In conversations like this one, she feels how different her life has been from Rio’s, and she doesn’t know where to step. Flustered, she pivots. “Where do you want to go?”</p>
<p>“It don’t matter much. Somewhere with good food and a five-star hotel where I can keep you naked.”</p>
<p>She laughs, excited, and a little nervous.</p>
<p>“We could go to… Montreal?”</p>
<p>Rio grins, quick. “Nah. Not yet. I go to the jazz festival there, every summer. We’ll go together this year, but I want to go somewhere sooner.”</p>
<p>Beth’s mind fritzes out for a few seconds, considering the possibilities.</p>
<p>“Where else you wanna go, ma?”</p>
<p>She shrugs her shoulders. “Honestly, anywhere.” He seems to be eying her meaningfully.  Beth tries again, lowers her voice to a purr, “Where do you want to take me?”</p>
<p>He looks away, biting at his lips. “I’ve been wanting to go back to Mexico. I still have a lot of family down there.”</p>
<p>She’s surprised to hear the admission. He rarely brings up his family outside of Marcus or Rhea. But, by now she’s privy to the details of Rio’s schedule and knows he spends many Sunday afternoons with his extended family at his mom’s house. “Oh yeah?”</p>
<p>“We used to drive down, spend summers in Guadalajara with my grandparents.” He smiles at the memory. “I still got a lot of cousins in Jalisco. Some of them moved to Puebla a few years back. I haven’t been since before Marcus was born.  I’ve been itchin’ to go back and visit.”  He looks at her as if they’re conspiring. “We can catch a direct flight from O’Hare into Mexico City, spend the beginning of the trip there. We could rent a car and take a day trip to Puebla. Then, we could go to Guadalajara for a few days.  You ever been to Mexico?”</p>
<p>Beth shakes her head.  </p>
<p>“Cool. You’d like it. People there are real nice and the food is bomb - the pozole…” He mimics a chef’s kiss.</p>
<p>“Rio…”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>Beth runs through it a few times in her head and decides to put it out there. “Don’t you think I should meet your family here first?”</p>
<p>Rio’s lips twist and he pulls Beth close against him.  “You want to meet my má?”</p>
<p>Now, Beth’s shaking her head at him. “Yeah. Obviously.”</p>
<p>“My nosy sisters, too?”</p>
<p>“There’s no way they’ve got anything on Annie.”</p>
<p>He laughs. “You’d be surprised.”</p>
<p>Rio kisses her and it makes something shoot down her spine. Could she be any more of a cliché? Her mind starts down a familiar spiral: in her forties, past her prime, boring house-wife. She makes an effort to stop, correct course, and Beth realizes Rio is watching her closely, no doubt, reading her mind.</p>
<p>“Mm-kay. Next Sunday.” Then, undeterred, “But, where do you want to go?”</p>
<p>Beth pauses a moment. Where doesn’t she want to go? She considers what story she’s going to spin so she can get Dean to take the kids without putting up too much of a fight. And then she turns her brain off and starts to imagine the future, and Rio naked, and where he would look good naked. Everywhere, honestly, but- She thinks about his brown skin against crisp hotel sheets, in aquamarine waters where he wouldn’t even have to put on all the clothes Michigan temperatures demand he wear most of the year. She thinks about the bright red one-piece she bought when she was really feeling herself and knows he would love. She thinks about them, in the future, together.</p>
<p>“Somewhere warm and beautiful, with a beach.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” He looks her up and down and bites his lip. She loves it. She loves that she’s finally allowed to love it. “I can picture you, in a bathin’ suit, gorgeous, in a big ass hat.”  He brings his hand up to trace along her collarbone. She’s already wet, and she can feel him half-hard beneath her. “Your tits earnin’ freckles all along the top. Slathering up with spf 300.”</p>
<p>Beth smacks him. “Shut up.”</p>
<p>“What beach, mamí?”</p>
<p>Beth considers what she wants, all the places she’s ever want to go. She considers the possibilities. She takes a shot. “Let’s go to Hawaii.”</p>
<p>He’s nodding along with her, dipping in to kiss her again. “Let’s do it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. "I'm Not Mad"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’m not mad”, from the 3 word prompts list circulating ages ago</p><p>Set: One day in the future when Brio is an item.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-</p><p>Beth had made a mistake. She had started the bread late, off schedule.</p><p>The meet with their new contact was pushed back from a blithe afternoon meet and greet at Rio’s bar to eight in the evening semi-dinner that wasn’t incredibly tense but not really the kind of thing you actually wanted to eat at. But, regardless of business woes, she was still committed to making walnut bread whether she liked it or not. The parent group for Emma, Jane, and Marcus’s soccer team organized a bake sale for the team. Despite the ever-present shadiness of upper-middle-class, overly prideful parents, she had happily committed herself to three loaves - one for each of the children. It could be worse. At least she was no longer at a stage where all of her babies were elementary school-aged, and running ragged trying to room mother and volunteer at games.</p><p>Successful as the day was with their new connects, her whole bread-making schedule had been thrown off. By the time they had gotten home it was after eleven and she just had time to start the bulky second prove before she collapsed in exhaustion from the long day. Rio had tugged her zombie-like to bed.</p><p>But that was then and this was - now. Her over-disciplined mind had woken her up at an hour that still qualified as the middle of the night to shape the bread. Beth tried to undergo the mental gymnastics of which floorboards to avoid, to make it all the way to the kitchen without stirring Rio, but damn if she was still tired. He who must not be disturbed was snoring softly at her shoulder. Beth could already hear him, but she would just take it slow. She started first with one arm, and then the next. Limb by limb she freed herself from his all too enticing warmth and peeled away the blankets.</p><p>Slowly, she shifted her weight out of the bed, as a hand emerged out from under the piles of blankets to snag her own wrist.</p><p>Fuck. She moved two feet and she already got caught.</p><p>“Where you goin’?” Rio says it slow, rolling like molasses through his exhaustion and the fog of sleep. Rio always collapses into slumber, chronically under-rested. He took the luxury of rest where he could. It meant he slept heavy and he was always fussy to be interrupted. Beth leans back into the bed and kisses his temple, then his cheekbone.</p><p>She leans into his ear to whisper, “I need to go check on the dough.”</p><p>Beth strokes the scrunch of his brow, kisses the bridge if his nose. She’s pulling out all the stops.</p><p>“Go back to sleep, baby.”</p><p>He groans. The sound is loud in the darkness of their bedroom. Beth loves it, she loves him sleepy but holds her ground.</p><p>There’s a short pause, as she continues to stroke his temple. She’s hoping he decides to go back to sleep, he’s waiting for her to get back into their bed. For a moment, it’s a stalemate. Then, he gives.</p><p>Another groan - a purely theatrical protest, he certainly could answer a work text at any hour of the night.  He runs his hands over his face trying to clear the sleep and then continues to make his little show by lumbering out of bed as if this asshole ever had an ungraceful day in his life. “I’m goin’ wit you.”</p><p>She huffs. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“Nah, you want to do this now. So we’re gonna do it.”</p><p>“Go back to bed.” Beth sternly whispers, trying to keep her voice down. For who she isn’t sure. They’re alone, the kids at their respective parents for the week. Maybe she does it to maintain the decency of the hour.</p><p>“You go back to bed.”</p><p>His fingers reach out to her, curling under the top of her pajamas, and pulling her closer towards the mattress. Rio’s hands are warm and big against the softness of her skin there. She considers relenting, inviting his body to curl back around her, knows she could probably get an orgasm out of this. But, the children!</p><p>“Let’s just buy it tomorrow.”</p><p>A year ago she would have scoffed, offended. Now she just rolls her eyes at him the dark. Maybe he can’t quite see but she knows that he knows.</p><p>She catches his hands. Slaps him on the wrist.</p><p>“If you’re coming with me you have to behave.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Christopher.”</p><p>“Fuck. You sound like my middle school math teacher, Mrs. Ramos-“</p><p>“Or like your mother.”</p><p>“Or like a really mean librarian. Mrs. Castillo-“</p><p>“Oh my god. Let’s go.”</p><p>-</p><p>Rio collapses on a chair at the island, blearily keeping an eye on her. Beth turns on one of the lights in the kitchen. Halfway through her checking unearthing the proved dough, he starts playing Animal Crossing on his phone. She recognizes the app jingle.</p><p>“The kids play that.”</p><p>“E’rybody plays it.”</p><p>“I mean kids do.”</p><p>“Sweetheart, it was on the GameCube in ‘01.”</p><p>Beth scrunches her face at him. It’s an ungodly hour, he’s pouting like her youngest, who is for the record an eight-year-old who plays Animal Crossing, and watering his fucking crops or fishing or whatever. She lets herself digress because certainly, she wouldn’t be the first to indulge in childish behavior. Also, the fucking GameCube? This guy. “How old are you again?”</p><p>“Four years younger than you.” This is a pattern they’ve fallen into, a refrain. The other day he finally showed her his license but then she reminded him, it could be fake for all she knew.</p><p>“No one our age played the GameCube.”</p><p>“Your age maybe. My age they did.”</p><p>Fuck him.  She glowers.</p><p>“What, your old hubby never played Galaga? Or whatever the fuck boorish white dudes played in the 90s? Bet he was a Tetris guy.”</p><p>“First of all, Tetris is fine. I’ve seen you play Tetris! And white people play Animal Crossing.” She ends a touch snidely.</p><p>“Yeah. Like I said, everybody plays it. Nintendo is the shit.”</p><p>She would know. All of her children, and her pseudo-eldest, Annie, cannot remove themselves from whatever the Nintendo calls itself these days. All of Annie’s social media updates have been about her virtual island. And then Ruby had started using Sarah’s console, and joined Annie there - on that island. They took kind-of cute cartoon pictures wearing matching hot pink outfits with what they adamantly claimed was “juice” but was definitely a daiquiri. Beth was just feeling a little left out is all.  </p><p>“I thought you said you didn’t like the phone game.”</p><p>“It’s not good like the Switch, but it’s a fix.”</p><p>“Uh huh.”</p><p>“Besides your sister is blowin’ shit way the fuck out of proportion on New Horizons. I already visited her damn tacky island three times this week. She bought a fuckin’ port-a-potty and put it in her house. It’s fuckin’ weird. She kept insisting we take screenshots by it-“</p><p>Beth stops listening, distracted as an image of a cartoon Rio drinking mimosas with Annie and Ruby on stylized furniture flashes in her mind's eye.</p><p>“Don’t pout, darlin’.”</p><p>She scoffs and then her lips purse a little more.</p><p>“It ain’t becoming’.”</p><p>The bowl she’s working with clatters a bit as her movements become more vigorous.</p><p>“Did you just tell me to ‘smile’ at four-thirty in the morning?”</p><p>He opens his mouth as if to answer her, shuts it, and pointedly continues tapping on his phone. After a minute he lowers the volume. All that can be heard is the jingle playing softly.</p><p>She continues shaping the bread. Rio migrates over to the living room and Beth hears him collapse on the couch. She stores the bread, tucking it back into it’s proving spot, and sets the timer so she can wake up and bake the dough later in the morning.</p><p>“Elizabeth.” It’s not lush, weighty like he usually says it. He lets sleep curl around it and soften the syllables. She comes to perch against the open entrance of the living room. Rio’s pulled a blanket down with him on the couch and is being purposefully charming. It works but god is it annoying.</p><p>“Sweetheart, c’mere.”</p><p>She stares at him.</p><p>“Don’t be that way.”</p><p>Beth lofts her head. “I’m not mad.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“Let’s go to bed.”</p><p>“C’mere, please.”</p><p>He lifts the blanket. She glimpses his hoodie-clad body underneath and she knows the toasty warmth of his body and she knows she’s mad for no reason, so she tries to get over it, and goes to lie with him on the couch.</p><p>They wrap themselves around each other. He kisses her forehead. “You just feel old because it’s five in the mornin’ and that makes everyone feel like shit.” He dips down to kiss the grooves under her eyes. “You interrupted our beauty sleep.”</p><p>His kisses travel the frame of her face and then he continues.</p><p>“Also, your girlfriends and I aren’t going to decide we all like each other better and un-invite you to the party.” He pecks her lips. “Besides your sister’s a freak and there’s no way she’s replacin’ you as my best friend. No way anyone is replacin’ you.”</p><p>"Not even Mick?"

</p><p>He makes a noise, noncommital, she notices. She lets it go and allows herself to melt further into their embrace, kisses his shoulder. Beth lets herself be soft.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>His hands dip lower to the swell of her ass. She can tell he’s eyeing the way her boobs swell up pressed against his chest.</p><p>“Yeah, darlin’?”</p><p>“Either say you love me back or go to sleep, Christopher.”</p><p>He chuckles and whispers a quick I-love-you into the shell of her ear and then a nip, “How much time we got before you check the bread again?”</p><p>Now she’s laughing. Fuck it. They’re up anyway. She kisses him, dips down to suck a mark into one of the wings at his neck.</p><p>“Plenty of time.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. So I Come To You, My Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ruby &amp; Beth come back from a well-deserved vacation, at least 15 years overdue.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: a hug after not seeing someone for a long time.</p><p>I really thought this was the easy prompt out of the bunch. I thought for sure this one would be just 500 words, a neat and contained ficlet. Oh well, it’s 3k. </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth is itchy, impatient ever since they boarded the plane to go home. Or maybe since they made it to the airport… or rather, since she woke up before dawn, her mind racing with anticipation of her 11 am flight.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby had gotten up, wandered somnolent into the kitchen for coffee, and promptly been accosted with the sight of Beth sitting at the kitchen table of their rental with her pile of suitcases fully packed and ready to go. Ruby had rolled her eyes to high heaven and asked aloud for patience.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At this point, Beth was too twitchy to be apologetic, the airport calling to her like a beacon from afar.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby had known that it was only the beginning.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She had shaken her head as they flew along in their rideshare to the airport,  Beth silent, taciturn, and unable to make any small talk with their cheerful driver asking them indulgent questions about their trip. She had rubbed Beth’s shoulder as Beth sighed, loudly, multiple times in the line for security, in line for boarding. She had watched as Beth’s eyes had darted to the time on her cell and tracked the clocks ticking on the airport walls. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Again, Ruby had prayed, <em>Heavenly Father, please give me the patience and understanding to not harm Elizabeth Marks, my aforementioned best friend, on this eight-hour flight. Please bring us safely to our journey’s end.</em> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Eventually, they settled on the plane and Ruby… Ruby needed a break. Beth and all of her fidgeting were giving her friend nervousness by osmosis. They should have anticipated it, of course. That this is how their fabulous, three-week, best-friend vacation was doomed to end -- in an anxious fizzle.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So, Ruby went about her process. She popped her ZzzQuil and put on her Nidra eye mask (or as Annie would say, “her eye bra”). Then, she wrapped herself up the plush blanket she had purchased for maximum airplane luxury, fully reclined her first-class seat, and adamantly went to sleep. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s in this purgatory that Beth finds herself waiting. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Waiting.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And still waiting.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At first, she tries to watch a movie, and it plays as told on the screen in front of her for two hours. She barely hears a word. Then, she tries to sleep, too. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But, no dice.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And she can’t exactly complain and blame it on the flying experience when she’s sitting in first class. The trip, an international vacation to France, had already been the fanciest thing Beth and Ruby had ever done. They had taken three weeks off from work to do it and that time was a luxury in itself. So, when Stan and Rio had combined husband-partner powers (HPP as Ruby and Beth had toasted to, giggling on the first flight across the ocean) and surprised them, upgrading their seats to first-class… It had been the cherry on top of the icing on the cake. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But, despite all the makings for premium comfort, Beth ends up bringing her seatback upright. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Instead, she passes the time, tapping her heel and staring off into space. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>While she knows rationally it’s not true, it feels like the longest eight hours of her life. The last half of the flight stretches out before her but this experience certainly wasn’t as long as any of her births, or as stressful as even half of the situations they had gotten themselves into while criming these past four years. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But, Beth doesn’t ever really do well with prolonged absences from Rio. The anxiety of what it meant before -- ghosting, getting cleaved from the business -- is still something they are working to break from the patterns of their relationship, something Rio is still trying to unlearn as being his go-to answer to emotional conflict. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But, historically it had unfolded the other way around. There had never been a precedent of Beth being the one to smoke bomb out for a few weeks...</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Of course, she wasn’t smoke bombing anywhere, slipping away into the ether. This was a long-planned vacation, months in the making, decades in the dreaming. There had been careful plotting to adjust the slack in the printing schedule and there had been deliberate calendering with the children’s summer activities. And well, Rio knew where to find her -- both where her rental was in Paris and where she more permanently lived (<em>with him</em>). </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And it’s not like they hadn’t talked every morning and every night and sometimes in between of these past three weeks</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>God, she feels clingy and codependent and too much like her teenagers. Ruby had called Stan half as much. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And she’s still itchy. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>…And kind of oily now?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She keeps scratching at a spot on one of her shoulders, at her palms, blotting at her face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The people around her are going to think she has some sort of disease.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Except for Ruby, who <em>knows</em>. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So, Beth sits there, tapping, scratching, sighing into the void of time. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And it shouldn’t be so much of a surprise when a little more than halfway through the flight, Ruby’s hand emerges from its blanket cocoon to clamp down on Beth’s jiggling leg. Regardless, Beth all but levitates a foot into the air, gasping. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Chill</em> out.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth takes a deep breath and tries her best. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Then, she blows out a raspberry. “I can’t.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby rips off her eye mask, sighing loudly.  “You’re such a newlywed.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s the thing,” Beth says glumly. “We’re not even married.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Do you want to be?” Ruby looks over at her best friend, brow furrowed. And she wonders for the millionth time the question she won’t actually voice out loud, <em>What did Rio’s dick do to her friend?</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth looks back at Ruby, then her gaze shifts away, “No--” It comes out in upspeak, like a question and unsure. She swallows, and tries again, “No.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby widens her eyes at Beth who cringes, folding into herself. Then, Beth shifts anxiously in her seat, avoiding Ruby’s gaze. “No, I don’t really… care.” Then, Beth grimaces, realizing it obviously sounds like she cares.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh-kay.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I just--” Beth starts defensively, “Three weeks has been a long time to be away from home.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The trip was wonderful, a literal dream -- one they’ve dreamt of since high school. But, the three weeks have been a long time, for both of them.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth continues, “I’d do it again in a heartbeat but now that we’ve been, maybe two weeks next time.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby nods. “I can’t wait to see Stanley. Ugh, to hug Harry.” She hugs her own arms around herself picturing embracing her son. “Sara…” Ruby purses her lips. “Can stay at her photography camp.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth rocks in to nudge her shoulder against Ruby’s, chiding. “You missed her.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Let’s just say that I’m glad I took the higher road and got her those damn macarons she wanted.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m glad we ended up doing that, too. The kids are going to be thrilled, especially Emma.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby shakes her head fondly. “I love that child. Forever my favorite nibling.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, well Sara is my favorite niece, so don’t be too hard on her.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby scoffs. “She’s your only niece.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And you know, she’s had weeks now to think about it. She’s probably feeling very sorry she said all those things before you left.” Beth consoles, reaching over to hold Ruby’s hand. “Knowing Stan, he’s probably worked his magic on her and you’ll go back and be a perfect family again.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby shakes her head, then turns against the seat to look at Beth, all charm, “So, who’s your favorite nephew?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now it’s Beth’s turn to scoff, “You know Annie would kill me if I didn’t say Ben.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, she’s not here.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth rolls her eyes. “You know Benjamin is as perfect a child as they come. But, I never see him anymore. He’s always off with his friends and suddenly too old to hang out with his younger cousins, too cool to hang out with his favorite aunt-- and you know I’m not good with teenagers.” Beth shrugs. “And Harry’s eight and a mini version of Stan. It’s just not a fair fight.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Ruby smiles, pleased, “I’m going to tell Annie.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You can’t tell Annie. I told you that under the assurance of secrecy.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Bitch, I didn’t give you no assurance.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth sticks her tongue out at Ruby. Ruby scowls at her back. Then, they settle again. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You have plans with gang boo? Oh, excuse me-- <em>Christopher</em>…” Ruby trills. “--Since you’re anxious as all get out.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth arches back against the seat, fidgeting again. “I’m not anxious.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby levels her with a look.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m not.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s a beat where Ruby continues to stare at Beth, waiting. Beth rocks her jaw and looks away.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Why don’t you just text him?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I already did when we got on the plane.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So… message him again?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth cants her head low, letting her hair fall to obscure her face. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s being… you know how he is.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I… do but I’m not sure I want to know what that means.” Ruby pauses, sitting with it. “Oh my god.” She clamps her hand down again, this time on Beth’s wrist. “Does he want you to take naked pictures in the bathroom?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth tries to snatch her arm away, flailing in the seat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What if Delta sees your nudes?! Please, tell me you did not do that in that sardine box ten feet away from me, <em>Elizabeth</em>. <em>Marks</em>.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I <em>didn’t</em>. I would never.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Someone a row over shushes them. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby relinquishes her grip to press at her eyebrows. “Y’all are too much.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth shrugs. “He really liked those caftans we bought at that boutique.”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby considers that, thinking about how much she underestimated Christopher Aguilar’s capacity to love her friend. Sometimes it just really is too much to think about. “You got a special night planned?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” Beth says shortly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mm.” Ruby nods along. “You know that man’s not going to let you out of bed, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth flushes, squirming again in her seat. And she feels awkward talking about it, but, <em>God, she hopes so?</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“When are you picking up your kids again?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Tomorrow night.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby tsks and looks at Beth knowingly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You really don’t want to try to get some sleep? You’re gonna need it. Hell, I’m gonna need it and here you are keeping me up.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth laughs shortly. “You’re one to talk about not getting out of bed. Stan literally wrote you an ode last week.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby smiles, something soft, small, and happy. “He was trying to compete with Paris.” Then she says, playful. “Almost twenty-five years of marriage and I still got it.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth looks at her friend and opens her mouth looking for the words. She turns to search Ruby’s face and tries to be vulnerable.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her voice comes out small and a little desperate, “Do you really think he missed me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby snorts. “I’m honestly surprised he didn’t show up in Paris to crash our trip. The man’s a genie. A genie with <em>a lot</em> of dinero.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And it’s flattering, the image of Rio flying across the world to find her. Of course, he had stayed right where she left him -- in Detroit, in the middle of nailing down some business with one of his bars -- while she and Ruby fulfilled the dream they had for twenty years now. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was... <em>something</em>, really something to be flush with cash, for all of the people she loved to be rolling in the riches, to have enough to afford anything she wanted. Security -- what a concept.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But, quickly enough she is so greedy. Beth is already calculating when it would be realistically feasible for her and Rio to take time off together for a trip of their own (maybe a beach this time).  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth lets out a long, deep sigh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“B, that man was glued to his phone for any and every picture or text you would send him about what you were doing. He woke up at some god awful time to tell you ‘Good Morning’ and cleared his schedule every day at 5 pm to call you at the end of ours. He <em>missed</em> you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She whispers. “I missed him, too.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know,” Ruby says dryly. Suddenly, her hand flies up to push the button for the attendant. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth looks at Ruby nonplussed, as the attendant makes their way down the aisle to their seats. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby eyes Beth sternly. “We still have two hours on this airplane and we are going to make the most of it. It’s still our vacation and you need to hold your shit together.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Pep talk over, she smiles wide at the flight attendant and requests, “Two mimosas, please!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s more than two mimosas. When their flight finally lands, Beth and Ruby don’t walk in the straightest line up the jet bridge. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They pause just out of their gate, a big sense of feeling bringing both of them to a standstill. Tipsy, relieved to be off the plane, and home again, vibrant in this feeling of togetherness with each other, they embrace. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you, friend.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I hate your face.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I hate <em>your</em> face.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“God, I never want to see your face again.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They loosen their hold, dab at their wet eyes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you for Paris.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They tear up all over again. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Once they make it out of their gate, Ruby and Beth stop to use the bathroom. Beth takes the opportunity to smooth out her hair, dab some cold water at her blotchy cheeks, and reapply some deodorant. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She thinks she’s going to jump out of her skin. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby brushes her teeth, and Beth inspired does so, too. They apply lip balm on their chapped lips. Beth pinches color into her cheeks, as Ruby laughs, “He sees you on the daily first thing in the morning. Or do you pull a Midge Maisel on him?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth sticks out her tongue. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As they get ready to move on and Ruby gets a call from Stan, who reports that <em>they</em> are there waiting outside of customs. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth all but runs to the international baggage claim, Ruby trailing behind her, watching her best friend with great amusement and a little secondhand embarrassment but she’s excited, too. They get in line at customs, and blessedly it isn’t long and they don’t have enough to declare. Quick enough, they’re buzzing through the doors that announce no return entry. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>On the other side are escalators leading them up from the bottom-most level -- international arrivals only -- to the ground floor. Beth files in with her suitcases, behind Ruby.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And as they move further up the escalator, they can spot Stan and Rio waiting for them at the top. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth turns to Ruby, “Store on Monday?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Who nods back, “Store on Monday.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As they get closer, Beth drinks Rio in and something unsnarls in her soul. He’s in a black t-shirt, his jeans, and a pair of his typically sharp shoes -- dressed for Detroit in June. Her eye zero in on his ink, visible on his neck, the stretch of skin exposed on his arms, his hands clenched at his sides, the scruff on his face. Video has come a long way but, she’s relieved to see him in real detail. She’s relieved that in seconds she’ll be able to touch him, relieved to see that particular warm look in his eyes, the embers in person. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth can’t help it -- a smile stretches wide across her face. It really hasn’t been that long, she’s spent decades without him, but she feels giddy, goofy, effervescent. She could float right up to the top of the escalator, straight into his arms. But, gravity is real and she has to wait her turn.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ruby walks off to greet her Stanley.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And Beth walks up to Rio. He reaches forward to pull her luggage to the side and she pauses in front of him. The magnetism of the inches between their bodies is electric, more dizzying than the champagne on the flight. He just looks <em>so good</em>. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He beams back at her, smiling wide. In the periphery of her vision, she can see his hands twitching.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And-- <em>good</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Beth thinks she could fuck him now, drag him into a bathroom somewhere, but all she wants to do is kiss him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So, she does. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She steps closer, brushing her nose with his (and doesn’t that feel new? And absurdly tender?). Her lips touch his. And God, it’s soft and she’s smiling into it, and he is, too. He tastes like the mint tea he probably had after lunch. And she has the brief thought that they’re so… <em>dumb</em>. He’s thirty-nine this year and she’s in her mid-forties and honestly, this is ridiculous for their age. It’s only been days and they had so much phone sex. But, this real-life thing, it feels <em>so good.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Rio curls his arms around her, smart hands sliding down to palm her ass as he brings her as close as possible. Her hands clutch the back of his neck, feeling the skin there, smelling the musky scent of his cologne, as they cling to each other. One of her hands wanders to trace the sharp prickliness of his buzz cut, and the other one of his twines along the nape of her neck. Heat curls deep in her core, flaring with the feel of him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Eventually, they part for air.  Beth nuzzles Rio’s scruff. </p>
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  <p>Rio laughs loud, head rolling back and shoulders shaking. <em>Gorgeous</em>. </p>
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  <p>“Baby,” he looks at her, biting his lip. “You taste like a bottle.”</p>
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  <p>Beth gasps, insulted. “I brushed my teeth!” </p>
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  <p>“<em>Okay</em>, champ.” He kisses her again, short this time. “You gonna be able to make it home?”</p>
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  <p>Then, she kisses him again, playfully pushing her tongue in his mouth. He’s panting when they part. And she can’t help it, she’s beaming. </p>
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  <p>“The question is, are <em>you</em>?”</p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I've Got To Lose My Cool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt: Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.</p><p>Thank you @s_t_c_s, I made a concerted effort to keep this silly and short. And I gave myself frown lines as I watched it longer and longer and… angsty. D: </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>Beth’s first mistake was not calling the HVAC technician first thing in the morning. She had called on the way out the door, left a voicemail. </p><p>It shouldn’t have been a big deal. Wednesdays were usually slow. She would be able to sneak away at almost any point to take a call back. In the message she left, Beth made sure to mention that her only conflict was at three (the weekly drop of bills from Mick). Otherwise, there was plenty of time to schedule the service visit with perfect timing for the impending heatwave. </p><p>But, of course, her life was no longer neat.   </p><p>On this random mid-day shift, there had been a flurry of customers at the store -- multiple special orders for invitations, a desperate maid of honor running in for last-minute bridal shower details. And, naturally, it was in this hubbub that the tech had returned her call. There was another subsequent round of phone tag. Beth left a new message. </p><p>On her phone, there was also a text from Mick. He was held up -- and that <em>never </em>happened. The texts hinted at some mysterious, more-important errand for their boss and she was a little curious. He had quashed her follow-up questions (only a couple!), with a gruff, “I’ll get there when I get there.” </p><p>And he indeed eventually arrived to Paper Porcupine -- a whole hour late and in a terrible mood. He barreled in the backdoor, sans his typical flannel and sans-leather jacket. Instead, he was in a t-shirt and sweaty as all get out in the late afternoon heat. Beth had stared at him aghast as her phone chimed with another call. It had been a perky soundtrack to Mick’s string of colorful swears when he realized he had left behind half the one-dollar bills needed for the next print run.</p><p>Well, at least that mess wasn’t on her. </p><p>When Beth finally caught the technician on her drive home, she confirmed what Beth had begun to suspect in her gut: they were all booked up with service calls until next Monday. </p><p>“It’s the heatwave, Mrs. Boland,” the tech explained over the car’s speakerphone. “Half of Detroit is calling in about faulty units. We can get you in first thing next week.” </p><p>Beth had nodded unseen and despairing. She had the AC blasting in the car, but she was still sticky with sweat. It was going to be precisely eleven degrees hotter by tomorrow. Then, it would chart 105 the day after that.  </p><p>
  <em> Good Lord.  </em>
</p><p>Her second mistake was not immediately driving to the store to purchase a pool.</p><p>This is how Beth finds herself in the middle of the brutal once-a-year Michigan heatwave, reflecting on how truly her life no longer plays out in the tidy, pre-ordained trajectories it used to. And some days this is thrilling but other days, <em> today, </em> it’s... </p><p>Terrible. </p><p>Beth tries to do what she can. </p><p>She digs out her most breathable pair of exercise shorts purchased two children ago. She dons her comfiest, lift bra, and throws on a frayed pink tank top. She no longer wore these articles of clothing in the presence of her husband (especially after that comment now etched into her soul about “a great ass and perfectly shaped boobs”) but kept them tucked into her dresser for such hellishly hot, solitary occasions such as today. </p><p>She pulls her hair messily into a lofty bun leaving no opportunity for it to cling to her neck. She also temporarily appropriates three of the flagging household fans and angles all of them carefully at her, meticulously layering the currents. Finally, she sprawls on her bed, starfishing her limbs for maximum air-to-skin contact. </p><p>All of it helps a little, but she’s still <em>hot</em>. Beth can’t fathom anything outside of her misery, wants to shed her skin. </p><p>She momentarily considers taking her third cold shower of the day. </p><p>Then, without realizing it is happening, Beth finds herself an hour deep into a frenzy of online shopping, precariously balancing her laptop so it doesn’t touch her skin. </p><p>Her focus: sandals. </p><p>Beth knows she shouldn’t go through with the purchase. Rationally, she can admit it is a feverish spiral, fixating on one fraction of why this week is awful. But, it is all she can think about: she does not have any appropriate footwear for this heat. </p><p>How will she <em>survive? </em></p><p>From there comes a whole whorl of scenarios. If she could get away with not leaving the house, she could stay barefoot, stick to the shadowy corners of her house, shower any hour of the day. In fact, this was (part of) the reason why she had chosen to stay home as Dean took the kids to the community pool a few blocks over. Her old pair of ratty flip flops had finally given out and the mid-morning heat already had Beth at her wit’s end. <em> God</em>, she just needed <em>some quiet </em>and some sense of distance from Dean. So, she suggested the idea, urged him to <em>go </em>and leave her in peace.</p><p>Perhaps, she could send him out for all the kids’ needs and assorted errands? </p><p>...But, could he be trusted? </p><p>Well, if Beth refused to leave the house, that meant she was also choosing not to go with the kids to the movies or the library, places with functioning air conditioners where she could cool off. And what else could they do tomorrow? Maybe she could dig out the old sprinkler from the garage… But, then she’d have to go into the <em> garage</em>, and the temperature in <em> there-- </em> </p><p>Anxiously, Beth meanders the tabs on the DSW website and adds two new pairs of flip flops to her cart. One’s a little more casual, definitely good for pool-side and backyard time. The other pair is a little more dignified. They didn’t look like they would clack. </p><p>Well, she doesn’t need <em>two </em>pairs...</p><p>She’ll narrow it down later. </p><p>In the back of her mind, Beth can acknowledge she doesn’t really <em>need </em>to buy anything at all, and that these sandals will not make her current discomfort any more bearable. But, it doesn’t hurt to look. </p><p><em> Oh, goodness </em> -- what about when she has to go back to Paper Porcupine for her next shift? The thought of putting on any of her flats seems like too much to bear, claustrophobic as they were in the heat. Pumps were out of the question. Which brings her to her last job-appropriate footwear option -- her ankle boots. Weirdly, that seemed to be a fashion trend that was happening now, but <em>nope</em>, absolutely not. </p><p>It is in this fever pitch, that Beth makes her third and perhaps most egregious mistake: when Rio knocks on the French doors, she lets him in. </p><p>In her defense, she’s a little dazed. As mentioned before, the current state of Michigan is literally hell and Rio’s appearance… takes her by surprise. She was not expecting him to show up today with a duffle of the rest of the small bills. He hadn’t texted and to top it off, he is wearing... an outfit she has never seen before.</p><p>A sleeveless shirt.</p><p>A sleeveless shirt <em>and </em>joggers, fancy athletic ones that look a price point (or three) above the ones she usually buys for Dean. However, despite this new foray into athleisure-wear, Rio remains head to toe in his favorite color with black on black Chucks rounding out the look. </p><p><em> What a goth, </em> Beth thinks, shaking her head to herself. <em> This outfit in over-100 degree heat?  </em></p><p>She feels hotter just looking at him.</p><p>Like Mick the other day, Rio is sans-jacket, sans-button-up, <em> and </em>sans-beanie and there’s just… miles and miles of uncovered brown, freshly sun-kissed skin. </p><p>Maybe, it’s her deep-seated jealousy of people who can tan. All her skin is good for is glowing in the dark and flash burning at the slightest interest from the sun. And mind you, she’s currently safe inside her dim bedroom, but it’s the strangest thing...  She’s burning <em> now </em> as her eyes trace the smooth skin exposed at the base of his neck, burning as she follows along the neat, sharp line of his collarbone where she had bit--</p><p><em> Stop, Beth. </em> Why did she still want-- </p><p>Had he purposefully shown up with a work excuse on the hottest day of the year to pester her? Was this a latent extension of his punishment? Beth thought they were past this. </p><p>But, you know what? Whatever. Let him try.</p><p>She’s cool. She might be sweaty as hell and wanting to crawl out of her skin, but she is cool as a cucumber, cold as ice, profoundly unbothered. </p><p>She’s so cool that she doesn’t say a word. </p><p>Not to greet him, or remark upon the mistake with the drop or… his atypical clothing choice. </p><p>She doesn’t comment either on the state of their business or ask after whatever it was he had assigned Mick to do this week and had seemingly gone awry. </p><p>She doesn’t comment as his mouth drops open with surprise as he takes in her appearance, his eyes widening with something as intolerably warm as the air around them. The bag slips from his grip just inside her doorway.</p><p>Nor does she say anything when Rio follows her back to bed, tethered to her through a tenuous spell of heat (weather or otherwise). She’s cool, indifferent, breezy actually as she repositions herself in the crosshairs of the fans. If she pretends he doesn’t matter, she doesn’t have to share the breeze right? So she doesn’t pay much mind as Rio slips off his sneakers and settles next to her. Instead, she re-balances the laptop and resumes pursuing the online DSW store. </p><p>She doesn’t say anything as he eventually shuffles closer, presumably to watch as she adds strappy sandals to her cart (or more probably to peek down her shirt). And <em>god-- </em> this stupid tank top. Maybe her boobs look better from over there in Rio-world, but over here she is sticky with underboob sweat and crossing her fingers that none of it shows through her bra. </p><p>His shoulder leans against hers.</p><p>And she has every reason to push him away, but… his skin is cool and smooth and not the most intolerable part of this weekend. So, she lets him stay there. </p><p>And she continues to ignore him, cool-like, or cool-aspiring.</p><p>Until he no longer lets her. </p><p>Concentrated as she is on her shopping, she notes idly as Rio’s foot reaches out to nudge one of her fans to aim more directly at him.</p><p>Beth can’t help the snarl that comes out of her mouth, “<em> Don’t </em>.” </p><p>He always brings out the worst in her.</p><p>There’s a low snicker. Her gaze drops down to take in Rio’s arm as it presses up fully against hers. His fingers reach over to pinch her thigh. </p><p>“Damn, ma.” </p><p>There’s that heat again, the one from inside. <em> God</em>, she hates him. </p><p>Beth shuffles away, frowning at her screen. Rio shuffles too, sidling up next to her again. She adds another pair of sandals to her order and then considers her cart. </p><p>“Elizabeth…” In the corner of her eye, she catches the movement of Rio shaking his head with reprove. “Think about where you live.”</p><p>Beth flails on the bed in a display that admittedly reminds her of her own children in a fussy mood and it only annoys her more. Her bedspread sticks to her arms, the backs of her legs, and the exposed sliver of her midriff where her top is creeping up. Beth shifts, trying to dislodge the cover from her skin, mindful to protect the laptop. It’s only happenstance that she manages not to shift a single inch of where the length of her arm touches Rio’s. </p><p>As she tries to calm down, a brief vision comes to Beth -- an alternate universe where the laptop is safely tucked away and the HVAC blessedly functions. The Rio and Beth of this fantasy are them but also not… maybe she’ll call them Christopher and Elizabeth. That Beth -- <em> Elizabeth </em> -- is only mildly inconvenienced by the heat raging outside. She can rest her dampened forehead against the cool arch of his-- <em> Christopher’s </em>neck. She can lean in to press a weak kiss at his collar bone. In fact, she can kiss it anytime she wants, invited to touch him anywhere she like. In this dream, Elizabeth’s ministrations don’t have to be surer or bolder or <em>cool </em> -- because she has him. </p><p>All the time. </p><p>She can afford to be soft. </p><p>In turn, Christopher nuzzles his face into her hair fondly, and that Elizabeth receives a soft kiss at the crown of her head. There’s an undercurrent of sex between them, the suggestion of it, but overall the scene is sluggish in the zenith of summer and content. Elizabeth can curl her body around his and let him hold her-- </p><p>How silly. </p><p>Beth shakes herself out of it and realizes that Rio has shifted on his side, watching her as she’s zoned out staring at the cart full of sandals for too long. His lips twitch and almost pull into a smile. Then, he quells them into mock seriousness. </p><p>It feels too intimate, him with her on this bed, her bed, <em> the </em>bed. It feels like Before. </p><p><em> God, why is he here anyway? </em>If she was alone, she could peel off all her clothes and… take an ice bath probably. </p><p>Not think of him at least. </p><p>Not think about that wild, feverish idea of curling up, fitting her body into his, and surrendering to the heat. Not think about how desperately and pettily she wants to pinch him back. She wants to kiss that stupid look off of his face or... Maybe she could purchase all six pairs of sandals and start browsing for pools on Cloud 9 just to spite him-- </p><p> “I <em> am </em>thinking about where I live and actually, it’s the middle of summer here--” Beth bites out. “--and it’s outrageously hot.”</p><p>“Just buy yourself a pair of sturdy white lady shoes. You mean to tell me you don’t already own some Birks?”</p><p>“<em> Excuse me </em>--” Beth splutters, incensed. She had considered them first but had been discouraged again by the price tag for a single pair.  “White people aren’t the only ones who wear Birkenstocks.”</p><p>Without missing a beat, Rio volleys back, “Baby girl, what are you going to do with so many pairs of sandals in Michigan the rest of the year?” </p><p>“Says you.”  </p><p>“Oh?” </p><p>“You literally have a million pairs of shoes. Your closet is <em> insane </em>.”</p><p>It dawns on her, what she just said. </p><p>
  <em> Oh.  </em>
</p><p><em> Not </em>good<em>. </em> </p><p>It’s the fucking heat. At least, the discomfort can’t blotch her cheeks any more than they already are. </p><p>She knows that if she looked at him now, she would see Rio doing something... obnoxious with his face. He’s probably smirking in that terrible, gloating, dumb, sexy way that he does, but <em>too bad</em>. </p><p>Beth refuses to look at him.</p><p>She’s indifferent and unbothered. She’s <em>cool</em>. She’s the kind of Beth that would never ever even think about his closet or daydream about them folding clothes together or fucking on-- </p><p>So, instead, she snaps her laptop close with a final click. The sandals were a half-brained idea anyway and that was a conclusion she already came to <em> on her own. Thank you very much, boss.  </em></p><p>She starts to get up but then Rio’s hand reaches out to curl around her thigh, pinning her to the bed. He squeezes her leg gently, as he has the audacity to shush her. </p><p>It’s enough impetus for Beth to rear her head back to meet his gaze again and level him with her most withering glare. </p><p>And, what do you know? She was correct. He appears to be <em>very </em>entertained. </p><p>This time she feels the heat surge on her face and knows without a doubt that it shows on top of the heat rash.  </p><p>“Yeah, so… are you ever gonna tell me what you were doin’ at my house?”</p><p>“No.” She snipes, prim. </p><p>“No?”</p><p>“I wasn’t doing anything.” It's outright untruth.</p><p>Rio’s amused disbelief and her defensiveness meet in a standoff. Beth knows from experience he’ll try to wait her out and she gnashes her teeth. </p><p>Then, there’s a twitch of movement at her thigh, the flex of fingers she realizes are still there and Beth registers the warm span of his hand a few inches above her knee. Her gaze darts down to look at where he’s touching her. He glances down, too. Together they watch as his thumb slowly strokes her skin. Then, again. </p><p>They both observe as the muscles in her thighs just perceptively clench.</p><p>God, him and her, in this bed. </p><p>His voice softens to that ridiculous mumble, both low and rich. “Aw, c’mon, darlin’. You can tell me.” </p><p>The tone raises her hackles -- as if she wasn’t already too familiar with this trap! She tries to affect nonchalance -- she’s <em> cool </em> -- and shrugs, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”</p><p>Rio grins. It’s sharp like a knife and charming. She hates that he’s the most attractive person she’s ever met. “You liked my closet?” </p><p>Then, an idea comes to her-- how she can best him at his own little game.</p><p>Beth curls on her side towards him. Her cleavage deepens and <em>god, </em>she can instantly feel more sweat bloom but she knows what he likes. The line of their bodies is parallel, only separated by an inch or two. They’re sharing the breeze from the fans now and wisps of her hair have gotten loose from her bun and are blowing into her face. Rio’s hand shifts to resettle and it drifts up to stroke her hair back behind her ear. Then it drops to curl at her waist. And you know -- nice move -- but she can do him one better.</p><p>“Yes,” Beth says simply. She brings her hands up to trace along the neck of his shirt, across his pecs, and the expanse of skin she hasn’t seen since that afternoon of Before. “I didn’t see this though.” </p><p>Then, in a moment of haughty malice, her fingers find the notch of his clavicle. She watches his throat bob as he swallows hard and she counts the success. She ignores the tell-tale temptation to gift him more bruises, to kiss him… </p><p>The thought occurs to her, distantly, slowly emerging through the fog of heat, that if she tugged the fabric to the side a bit, she’d find one of the scars she gave him. Her hands become clammy and they retreat. </p><p>“You like it?” Rio’s voice comes out a smidge hoarse. But, perhaps only someone who knows him like her would notice. </p><p>Beth shrugs a shoulder. </p><p>His eyes are bright as he looks back at her. His gaze shifts crass, laden with the suggestion of sex, and there’s a tinge there that's not quite sour per se. But, it’s heavy with the particular weight of who they are now. His line of sight deliberately drops to her cleavage with old, salacious purpose. </p><p>It’s not the way he looked at her that day, that one time (or two).  </p><p>Self-rebuffed, Beth tries not to think too much about how she hates that Rio caught her dressed like this. She itches to pull her top up to her neck or scramble off the bed to find something else to throw on. She itches to disappear entirely or to retreat into her bathroom (and see if this time he’ll follow her there too). </p><p>Slowly, in performance, Rio moves the fingers at her waist and dips them under the edge of her tank top. He traces teasingly underneath along her sweaty skin. </p><p>“I like <em> this,</em>” Rio says, biting his lower lip lewdly, tugging along the hem of her shirt. </p><p>And Beth feels-- she feels--</p><p>Too hot. </p><p>Too objectified. </p><p>Her stomach drops and she wants to crawl out of her skin. This wasn’t, this isn’t-- This isn’t what it was. </p><p>No matter who they are this minute, whatever mess continues to unfold, this isn’t what that day was.  </p><p>She won’t let him ruin it. </p><p>“You know I did really like your closet. I liked your shoe racks--” she scrambles, trying to dangle a little of what he wants and to <em>remind </em>him. “Your pictures. Nice touch.” </p><p>The comment serves its purpose. It makes him pause, sufficiently rebuked by all the ways that she knows him. </p><p>Rio extricates his hand, pulls away from her skin, as she tries again to calm herself. She needs to be <em>cool</em>, cool, cool. </p><p>But, it’s unbearable -- who they are now.  </p><p>She feels frazzled and depleted as she watches Rio roll onto his back. He looks up at her ceiling, not at her. “Why can’t you be honest with me for once?” He says it tiredly, without artifice. </p><p>She can’t stand it. </p><p>“You’re one to talk.”  </p><p>Beth watches as Rio is now the one gritting his teeth. </p><p>“Y’know--” There’s a poignant, festering beat and then he says, “When I fucked you in this bed, I had wanted…” </p><p><em> More</em>. </p><p>That want goes unsaid, suspended in the air around them with the heat. </p><p>“But, you just wanted me to fuck you,” he finishes quietly, leveling her. </p><p>Her stomach bottoms out newly pained and she wonders if that day, those two times, are already ruined for him. Certainly, she can understand if it’s because of the bullets. But, if he still has any doubt-- </p><p>She makes a last-ditch attempt at levity. </p><p>“You’d probably say this is really… basic bitch of me.” The phrase fits awkwardly, and the call back immediately has Rio’s attention. She knows in her race to pull something together, to make it better, something bearable, whatever she’s going to say is going to be too candid.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“But, the times that I’ve been the most… attracted to you--” Oh god, this isn’t coming out light and casual at all. <em> Oh no.  </em></p><p>Rio shakes his head at her, “Don’t stop now, Elizabeth.”</p><p>“Oh my god, <em> shut up</em>,” Beth huffs. Then, she tries again. “One is definitely when you were bashing in that butt-ugly car.” </p><p>Rio’s eyebrows raise comically high. </p><p>“You know with the crowbar,” She gestures, swinging her hand gratuitously. He absolutely already knows what she’s talking about. </p><p>“And two..”  Beth shuts her eyes and takes a steadying breath. She hopes for the best and tries not to rush the next bit. “--was when I saw your closet was color-coordinated.” </p><p>She sneaks a glance at him, and her stomach twists again.</p><p>He has absolutely no business looking so fondly at her. </p><p>She strives to clarify. “But, that was <em> before </em>.” </p><p>“Not anymore?”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>Rio nods, presumably in acceptance of her refusal. </p><p>But, then he tugs her to him, across him. Beth settles on top of him, too hot, too sweaty. Her forehead comes to rest, pressed against the soft hollow of his neck.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Constellations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.”</p><p>― Madeline Miller, Circe</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Femalegothic gifted me the prompt: Reading a book together. </p><p>Some notes on the setting: Beth and Rio are in an established relationship in this one, and criming is a chosen-family affair…</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The book club -- a real, honest-to-god book club -- begins when Beth’s curiosity about a book on Rio’s bedside table gets the best of her. Hamilton’s <em> Mythology </em>is reshuffled in the stack order from day to day, while other books cycle through. Those other texts disappear back to where they belong in the meticulously organized bookshelves in Rio’s loft equivalent of a living room. Sometimes they disappear from his space entirely. He isn’t one for clutter, and it’s something she (ridiculously, she can admit) finds very sexy. </p><p>But, <em> Mythology </em>lingers, frequently at the top of the stack or left the singular book on the bedside table. It pricks at her, making her feel a remnant of something -- guilt maybe. </p><p>The book was assigned in her English 2 class <em>way </em>back in the day. Gosh, to think she had ever been that young -- a sophomore in high school. The ancient myths were assigned during a bad semester, one colored less by the golden memories of youth (what adults had promised would be the best years of her life) and more so by the bleakness of her mother’s depression. Beth’s attention, energy, and time diverted, she had long learned how to skim for tests. </p><p>It was the early 90s. Third-wave feminism was surging somewhere in the country, but not in her household. In her mom’s more present moments, she minded her daughter to take care of her figure, to dress well, to smile. She called Beth pretty with pride, tweaking at the dimple in Beth’s chin as if it was the only thing that mattered. She would say things that would twist in the pit of Beth’s stomach like that things could be better for <em>her</em>, that if she was good and minded her girlishness she’d find a true sweetheart and be cared for. As a teenager, Beth resented her mother’s eagerness to pawn her off despite all she was doing to care for her and for Annie, and as an adult, Beth just feels… </p><p>At the time Beth nodded along, not wanting to rock the boat in these easier moments. Whatever old-fashioned things her mom said, Beth had The Plan. The Plan was to graduate and take her high school diploma straight to an interview and get a better job -- one in an <em>office</em>. College never entered the picture then, it seemed impossible with her commitments to her family. Instead, she daydreamed about a job where she didn’t have to pick up rude customers’ messes, something stable. It would be next semester that the QB of her high school football team would crash into her life like an unavoidable meteor, altering The Plan and Beth’s life forever.</p><p>Despite the tangle of bad memories, one -- nondescript, uneventful, normal -- comes back to her. In it, she’s fifteen and it’s a school night. Late in the evening, she cracked open the square little paperback with Pegasus on the cover to peruse the assigned excerpt for class. She thumbed right past the introduction to the first chapter, “The Gods, the Creation, and the Earliest Heroes.” She laid out on her stomach, her belly full from her shift dinner, her head perched on arms still tender from hours of working the milkshake blender. She drifted to sleep before she even registered how tired she was. </p><p>Beth ended up stirring halfway through the night, still caught in a dream of lightning bolts and mountains cresting the heavens, and found herself at home on her twin bed, the bedside lamp on and the open page stuck to her mouth from drool. At some point, her little sister crawled onto the bed with her. Annie anchored Beth at her thigh. Her scrawny, bean sprout arms were heavy with sleep and wrapped tight around her leg. Beth remembers slowly unpeeling herself from her sister and setting the book on her childhood bedside table. Then, she turned off the light and tucked them in. </p><p>Beth never ended up doing the assigned reading, never finished the book. From time to time she’d see it on other people’s bookshelves, in bookstores, and she’d think, <em> oh yeah, I was supposed to read that. </em> </p><p>And so, one day, after eying it laid out yet again in Rio’s home, next to his bed, Beth picks it up. </p><p>Inside the flap, the book is anointed in black ink with teenage-boy chicken scratch, legible to her only by sheer willpower and near-obsessive knowledge of Rio, “from the library of Christopher Aguilar.” She flips through it. There are notes and exclamation points in the margins, underlined sections. Some of the notes are nonsensical, the writing a complete mess, probably from high school. But, Rio’s script from nowadays dots the text, too. She notices an “Ojo” and an “E?” written next to the description on Aphrodite, then another “E!” on the descriptions of Artemis and Athena. She devours these paragraphs first. </p><p>And Rio… Rio can recite passages from the damn thing <em>from memory </em>and does so when he finds her lounging on his bed ten pages into the introduction. And despite having clearly read it many times before, he insists on reading it with her. </p><p>He claims he’s been wanting an excuse to buy the new edition, one that’s hardcover and illustrated. Later that week he stops by Source after holding crime boss court at the bar and comes home with a truly majestic copy.  Meanwhile, Beth plugs along on the tea-stained, dog-eared paperback filled with old and new versions of his chicken scratch. She teases him about his notes.</p><p>Rio being, as always, too much himself, uses every opportunity to rub it in her face that <em>he </em>did his assigned reading in high school. He has things, perhaps too many things, to say about Hamilton’s <em> Mythology, </em> about all the gods and the myths of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Naturally, he has favorites, opinions. They argue about them. He makes self-indulgent, opaque comparisons to Bulfinch’s <em> Mythology </em>that she can’t understand, and he hints about reading it next. It turns out to be an interest of his -- mythologies. He has curated a small but impressive collection of creation myths, texts on belief systems -- a number of them Mesoamerican. He can wax poetic on belief systems, origin stories. </p><p>“Yeah, but Edith Hamilton is what your people would call the gateway drug.” </p><p>This is how in her forties Beth finds herself curled up in bed with Rio reading a book assigned to her twenty-five years ago. It’s always late at night after all the kids have been put to bed, after printing, and all the other work. It’s nights when she vocalizes the need for the low, rasping sound of his voice. They settle in -- Rio bundled up in a hoodie and sweatpants, Beth often in her favorite lioness print pajama set and always her reading glasses -- and they take turns reading sections out loud. </p><p>When it's her turn, Rio tangles his body around hers, nuzzling into her chest, a leg pinning both of hers. His weight is always warm, his limbs long and bones heavy. Beth likes to run her fingertips along his scalp as she reads. She’ll dip her fingers below the hoodie, the pressure becoming firm to massage at the base of his neck. He’s always complaining about his traps. Every now and then, she tries to trick him. She’ll even out her voice, steady and soft, and try to lull him to sleep. </p><p>It never works. </p><p>But for a minute or two, he’ll let her think she’s won. He’ll finally stop fussing (picking at the bedspread, tugging at her pajamas, surreptitiously palming her boobs and making it look like he’s just getting comfortable, thrumming his fingers to a rhythm along her hips) and gets still, even weightier, and Beth will think she’s on the cusp of success-- Then, Rio will pointedly trail a hand up, flicking at the buttons along the way, and push her glasses back up her nose to prove he’s awake. </p><p>She’ll eye him, pursing her lips. He’ll eye her back, very awake, and nip pointedly at the button between her breasts. She’ll let him tug it up. She’ll tug her pants down. </p><p>On her nights, he eats her out. </p><p>On his nights, Rio plays with her hair as he reads aloud, and she curls into him, letting herself be soft as her fingers sketch portraits of the goddesses on his chest. She can always be counted on to get him back for what he does on her nights, her fingers drifting lower, until--</p><p>Her lips trail wet kisses along his cock, as he gets throatier, gruff. She makes him keep reading. </p><p>With their pace, it takes Rio and Beth a while to make progress through the book. But, when they get there, they take a special delight in reading the tales about the lovers, relishing in the stories as complicated as theirs. It makes the bullet scars seem less strange, the level of pettiness between them more of this world.  </p><p>They come back to these tales again and again. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It gets out, what they’re doing. </p><p>One day, Annie catches Rio murmuring about Artemis into Beth’s ear and goes in for the attack. </p><p>She gets it all out of Beth. The news spreads like a wildfire. </p><p>Suddenly, it’s like <em>everyone </em>knows -- and has an opinion. </p><p>At the next run of cash, during the long spell, while they wait for the pulp to dry, Ruby sits at a work table, her gaze wavering back and forth between her oldest friend and who she sometimes still refers to as Beth’s midlife crisis, sometimes as Beth’s Stanley. She looks embarrassed for them. “That sounds like some nerdy shit.”</p><p>Next to her, Stan shrugs. “Sounds cute.” He pulls in close and wraps his arms around her. He stoops low to peck Ruby’s cheek. “Why didn’t <em> we </em> think of a couple’s book club?”</p><p>Ruby throws her head back against his shoulder as she laughs, “A <em> book club! </em>”</p><p>Stan’s brows knit together, peering at his wife. </p><p>“It’s like eggroll,” she says, as Beth rolls her eyes, holding out a hand at her friend. “Don’t-- don’t. It’s not lost on me.” </p><p>Rio turns to Beth, his question on his face. Mick doesn’t even look up from his phone. Annie, however, watches the scene, too entertained -- forever a fucking brat. “So what are you reading next?”</p><p>“Bulfi--”</p><p>“Circe.” Beth cuts in, as Rio frowns at her. Beth ignores him, looking at her sister instead, “You remember. That new book. We heard that whole segment about it with the author on NPR.” </p><p>“Oh!” Annie says, nodding. “I just bought that.”</p><p>Ruby looks at Annie, skepticism written on her face. “You did?”</p><p>“Yup,” Annie says, her tone tart. She draws herself up self-righteously on her stool. “I got you one, too.” </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Stan looks between the three of them. “It’s supposed to be good? I could pick up a copy.” Beth watches as he tries to stealthily pinch at Ruby’s arm, trying to get her to be nice to Annie. </p><p>Mick looks up from his phone to stare at Rio, nonplussed. “Is this more of your mythology shit, Chris? Don’t tell me I gotta read this one, too.” </p><p>The backroom at the Paper Porcupine is silent for a beat, the suggestion of a group book club ominous in the air. </p><p>Rio turns to Beth, “Circe?”</p><p>Beth nods, solemnly, holding her ground. “It’s a feminist retelling of the Odyssey. It’s about <em>the gods</em>,” she intones. “It’s a good segue.”</p><p>Rio pauses, squinting at her. “Like… the white lady kinda feminism?” </p><p>“I see your point but it’s supposed to be well done!” </p><p>“Aight, aight.” Rio laughs. “Then, that’s what’s next. And then Bulfinch.”  </p><p>“No.” Mick tsks. “<em>No</em>. Dude, it’s gotta be a mystery.”</p><p>Rio rears back. “I’m not reading another one of your fucking Agatha Christie books, güey.” </p><p>“What about something old school and badass like García Márquez?”</p><p>“Or Cisneros?”</p><p>“We should read that new Zadie Smith book!”</p><p>“Or take it back and read Baldwin?”</p><p>“Hear me out, hear me out. What about a romantic classic like--” Annie clears her throat, theatrically. “Pride and Prejudice?” </p><p>“Ew.”</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>“Girl…”</p><p>“Annie <em>why </em>?”</p><p>“I’m just saying-- I was watching it the other day and it’s this stuck up guy, and this stuck up girl, and it hit me--” </p><p> </p>
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